Trapped in the Mind's Games
by RoXySuRfEr12
Summary: When someone dared Riley to steal something from Mort Rainey's house, she never knew that the consequences would be deadly.
1. Deadly Dare

Hey! I saw Secret Window in theaters a while back and LOVED it and then I just saw it on DVD and was inspired to write a fanfic about what would happen if I...or rather...any teenage girl for that matter...was put in the position of being pretty much trapped with Mort Rainey. I'm not really sure how this story is going to play out, but it'll be pretty weird and possibly violent.

I'll probably be switching between Third Person POV & First Person. Is that okay?? I've seen a lot of stories like that, and I think the only way I can write this story is to do that. So, read & review! I hope you like it!

(((It's rated R for violence in future chapters & the mention of drinking/drugs possibly. I wasn't really sure if I was going to rate it PG-13 or R. But I guess it's not that big of a deal anyway. I'm not sure if 13 year olds will care if I mention any characters being drunk but oh well!)))

Do I have to do a disclaimer?? Okay, well I don't own Secret Window. Honestly, I don't think anyone here does haha! But I do own my plot & characters :-D

ENJOY!

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**Trapped in the Mind's Games**

(First Person POV)

As soon as I got to the top of the rocky hill I grabbed hold of a tree to keep from falling back down to my death. It was more like a cliff than a hill, with trees scattered everywhere. Mandy was right behind me, stumbling over all of the rocks due to being drunk and also because it was an extremely steep hill. When she reached the top she swaggered a bit before grabbing onto a neighboring tree.

"There it is," she said, completely out of breath.

I looked up dizzily, trying to make out anything in the darkness. The moon wasn't that bright tonight, but the thousands of stars dotted in the night sky helped me see at least two feet in front of me.

"I don't see anything," I admitted and made my way up to flat ground. As soon as I had, I fell flat on my face. I was so damn drunk!

"Look…Riley…right there!" Mandy said loudly and pointed to a huge, black blob in the distance. "Mort Rainey's house," she whispered quietly, "He's a murderer, you know."

"Yeah…right!" I laughed.

I had just moved to Tashmore Lake with my brother, Dan, who, at twenty-one, was finally trying to make something of himself. Why we moved to Tashmore Lake so he could do that was still oblivious to me, but it wasn't like I had anywhere else to go. I was only fifteen at the time, with a love for partying and no love for anything related to school. Almost immediately after unpacking all of our things in our small, one-level house, I set off to find a party, if there were any in the hick-town. I didn't have my license yet, but Dan had taught me how to drive, so I took our small, rusted, blue car into town, then drove down to the lake. I found a group of kids my age, most were closer to Dan's age though, by the lake, getting drunk. It was pretty much a nightly thing for them to party by the lake since the police department really didn't care about them. So, for the past week or so I left around six at night, right after Dan got back from his job at the post office as manager, and didn't come back in until four or five in the morning. It was a good life…much better than remembering my past back in New York City.

"Nah, it's true," Mandy persisted and tried to lift me off the pine-needle floor. "He killed his ex-wife and some other dude!"

"Uh-huh," I replied and tried to stand on my own two feet.

"You don't believe me, then?"

"Nope!"

"Okay…" she said thoughtfully, "Then, if you aren't scared, go up to the dude's house, onto the porch, and grab somethin' of his!"

Something inside was telling me not to do it, but as I have said before, I was drunk.

"Mm k!" I said and began trudging up to the large, black blob in front of me. I heard Mandy running the other way, and then climb back down the hill. I remembered where the lake was (I hoped) so I could get back down there when I got something of the supposed "murderer".

Soon the black blob appeared to be a large, wooden cabin. It was an extremely nice place, even in the darkness. I saw a few steps leading up to a porch door, so I swaggered up the wooden steps, my head pounding and my legs aching. I pulled on the handle of the screen door with force, with no consideration for the fact that this was another person's house. Looking around the small, screened-in porch for a moment, I saw nothing worth coming all this way to steal, so I took a few steps in to try and see better. Black was clouding around my eyes, but I struggled to not pass out. Not here. I couldn't pass out in a supposed murderer's house. I began taking a few steps back, trying to get myself out of any danger. I had forgotten about the screen door being so close behind me, so when I stepped back my body hit the door, causing it to open. I felt my head hit the wooden steps, and then I blacked out.

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So...how'd you like it?? Please review--tell me if I should keep going with it. I know it's not much yet, but the 2nd chapter will have Mort :)


	2. Arguments of the Mind

**Trapped in the Mind's Games**

**(First Person POV)**

The sweet smell of corn filled my nose as my senses awakened and hazel eyes fluttered open. At first I thought that I was back home in our New York City apartment, taking a quick nap on our leather couch before an afternoon lunch. But when my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I saw that I was in a mildly furnished cabin, lying on a comfortable couch with a wool quilt covering my warm body.

"Shit," I muttered, remembering somewhat of what had happened the night before. I sat up abruptly, seeing a door right across the room, but I also felt a huge pain in the back of my head. I put my hand to where it was hurting, and felt that my light brown hair was covered in dried blood. I almost cried out in surprise, but instead, I threw the quilt off of me, and bolted to the door without another thought. My hand was on the doorknob, and I was about to fling open the wooden door, but a voice had stopped me.

"Good morning," said a man in a striped and tattered bathrobe, standing by the stove, boiling water and dumping corn into a metal pot. He had untamed blonde hair that looked as if it had a mind of its own. Black rimmed glasses sat on his sloped nose, and as he turned to me he smiled, revealing metal braces. This was supposed to be a murderer? He was creepy, no doubt. After all, corn seemed to be invading his kitchen, and he didn't even mind. There were ears of corn _everywhere_. On the counters, table, on top of the refrigerator, pouring out of the cabinets…_everywhere_.

"You have quite a gash on your head," he said while turning back to his corn.

I felt the back of my head again in concern, and realized that the wound on my head was really disgusting and pretty large, but at the moment, I just wanted to leave. I felt really dizzy, and I knew that it wasn't due to a hangover. As I put my hand on the doorknob to make a quick leave, I muttered a quick, "Thanks."

"Oh, you're welcome!" he replied cheerfully, "You would've _died _if it wasn't for me."

"A thousand thanks," I said quickly, then started to open the door.

"What were you doing on my porch?" he asked determinedly, with a somewhat fierce tone in his voice. He turned to me, eyeing my suspiciously. A huge chill was sent down my spine as his brown eyes focused on me.

"I dunno," I said nervously.

"I guess you haven't heard the rumors about me," he said mysteriously, leaving his corn in the pot, and striding over to me. I was almost too scared to move, and I felt lightheaded as his steps echoed in my mind.

"I just…moved here…" I said as everything seemed to spin around. I felt my body sway to one side, but the suspicious man grabbed my shoulders and guided me back to the couch and sat me down lightly. He sat down on a small table covered in papers that was right in front of the couch and stared intently and worriedly at me. My eyes were wandering around in their sockets, and my head felt so incredibly strange.

The man began waving his hand in front of my clueless face, and pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose.

"Uh, how many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"None," I said drearily since his hands were now holding up my shoulders.

"Sorry, sorry. My fault, my fault," he repeated, "My name's Mort Rainey," he said clearly.

"Hi…Mr. Rainey…I'm Riley Drews," I said quietly as my eyes faded into darkness.

**(Third Person POV)**

Mort Rainey guided Riley to lie back down on the couch as her eyes closed peacefully. He pulled the quilt over her body, and watched her helplessly. She was hurt badly, but there wasn't much that he could do. If he took her down to the local hospital everyone would think that he had hurt the poor girl and then the sheriff would have reason to put him in the jail.

Mort ran his fingers through his messy hair, contemplating what he could do. There was a teenage girl that smelled of beer and pine needles lying passed out on his old couch. Not that anyone ever came by his house, but if anyone did, it would be interesting to see what others thought of the situation. Mort was actually somewhat happy that someone had dropped by, even if she had been breaking and entering. He hadn't had any contact with humans for some time, and his appearance definitely showed it. He realized that he probably smelled worse than Riley, and though he didn't want to leave the girl's side, he got up from the coffee table and made his way to the staircase. He climbed the wooden steps, finally reaching the top and making his way to the small bathroom.

He opened the newly purchased shower door and turned the knob for the water to pour out. He undressed slowly and took off his glasses, setting them on the small sink. He stared into the mirror above the sink for a few seconds before he opened it and pulled out his razor and shaving cream. Mort squirted the cream into his hands, then spread it out over his rough cheeks. He brought the razor down along his cheeks gradually, feeling it cut his skin in a few unlucky places. Then, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot pricks of water soothe his skin and wash off all of the remaining shaving cream. Taking the soap and washcloth, he cleansed himself. Reaching for the shampoo on a nearby shelf he thought he saw someone enter the bathroom through the fogged glass door.

"Hello?" he said powerfully as he stood up slowly. There was a black shadow standing right in front of his door. It was taller than him, and skinny. Mort prayed that it wasn't his old "friend", John Shooter, but who else would it be? Shooter hadn't "visited" him in over two weeks, he thought, and Mort considered the idea that maybe his mind was done playing tricks on him. With the shampoo in hand, he thrust open the shower door, and threw the plastic bottle of shampoo at…nothing. It slammed into the wall, and Mort shuddered.

"Fuck…" Mort said breathlessly and grabbed his towel off the hook on the back of the door. "Stop doing that. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" he shouted as he hit his head angrily. He walked into his room as if he was walking to his death and threw on a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. Ruffling his blonde hair so that it would dry faster, he walked over to his desk that overlooked the living room where Riley lay passed out. He was worried that maybe she wasn't going to wake up…but it was just a hangover he hoped.

Mort stared at the screen before him with one paragraph written.

"She gazed out of the car window, taking in all the pale scenery as the small vehicle sped down the long, dirt road," Mort read quietly and quickly, "Thoughts of her past ran through her troubled mind, but she did her best to forget it. After another thirty minutes, they were—this is shit." He pressed the deleting key and one by one, the letters vanishing on the screen before his eyes. He sat back in his chair for a second, hoping that a fantastic idea would suddenly pop into his head.

"Nothing," he said aloud.

'_You can't just give up,' _his mind argued.

"Watch me," Mort said and opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bag of Doritos.

'_So you're just going to pretend as if nothing ever happened two weeks ago.'_

"Nothing's wrong with that," he replied as he fidgeted with the Doritos bag, trying to open it.

'_You saw him in the bathroom. He's fighting to come back.'_

"He won't."

'_Oh, but he will. He already did.'_

"What? No he didn't," Mort laughed uneasily and popped a chip into his mouth. "He's gone forever."

'_And what about the girl? You're just going to keep her here forever?'_

"Well, I can't keep her in—"

'_You'll have to. There's going to be even more talk around town and soon—'_

"Shut up! I'm not going to be bossed around by my own fucking thoughts!" he yelled.

His mind was silent, but Mort sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for them to come back. Several seconds of silence later, he smiled proudly, thinking that they were gone. But when least expected it, they came back again.

'_He came back last night, do you remember?'_

"Jesus Christ," Mort said exasperatedly. "Leave me the hell alone!"

'_Shooter. You don't remember how the girl got in your house, do you?'_

"I…I…Yes I do," Mort stuttered.

'_I told you he came back last night. He was the one who found her._'

"Not true," Mort objected shortly, "I would've remembered."

'_Would you?_' his mind asked sarcastically, '_Are you sure you would be able to remember if your old friend came back?'_

**(First Person POV)**

I rolled onto my side, trying to listen to the voices that had awakened my slumber. Was there someone else in the house, or was this dude just talking to himself?

"I would know if Shooter came back, you dumbfuck!" the man who called himself Mort screamed. I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath in my lungs for as long as possible. A few seconds later, Mort started yelling again, as if he was answering to an invisible person or something.

"I figured it out eventually! GOD!" he screamed again and I heard him pound his fists against something hard, probably a table, or desk of some kind. Then, I heard his footsteps move farther away from me, and the sound of a dresser being pushed out of the way.

'_He's busy,' _I thought, '_I can get out of here without him noticing.'_

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I lightly pulled the thick quilt off of my body, and lightly touched my flip-flops to the floor. I darted my head up to the loft above me, but I couldn't see Mort. I could only hear the grunts from attempting to move a large piece of furniture. I stood up as slowly as I could, and made my way to the door, every footstep taking an eternity. The door was so close, I could make out each individual square in the screen part of the door. My hand was moving towards the doorknob when I heard Mort's voice sting my ears.

"STOP!" he screamed, but I was already through the door, my mind set on escaping.


	3. Escape Attempt

**Trapped in the Mind's Games**

**(Third Person POV)**

Mort had decided to obey the voices in his head after much debate and attempt to move the dresser that covered the secret window that looked out into his secret garden; the place where the two most deadly secrets lay buried underneath the huge stalks of corn. He didn't understand why he should move the dresser, but his thoughts obviously had a reason. But, before he had fully removed the dresser from in front of the window, he heard a small creak in the wooden floorboards downstairs. He rushed to the railing of the loft, and saw Riley with her hand nearly on the doorknob.

'_You can't let her get away!' _his thoughts echoed in his brain, '_Shooter will surely come after her if she escapes. If she stays…then maybe Shooter will vanish.'_

"STOP!" Mort screamed for her to stop, but she bolted out of the door.

Not having any time to spare, Mort skipped half the steps on the long wooden staircase and skidded onto the porch, turned abruptly to the right, and saw the screen door where he, or Shooter, had found Riley the night before, swinging shut. He dashed through the doorway, seeing Riley sprinting for her dear life just a few yards up ahead.

Flip-flops were not the ideal shoes to be wearing when running for one's life, so Riley, as she ran down the rocky driveway, slid them off her feet. A relieving smile passed her lips when she saw a white truck drive by the driveway, but then she knew that he hadn't seen her. Determined to reach the end of the driveway before Mort reached her, she picked up her pace.

"You dropped your flip-flops!" Mort shouted after her concernedly, and picked them up as he ran after her.

Riley could now hear Mort's breathing behind her he was so close. His speed was no match for hers since she wasn't the least bit athletic and had never been involved in any sort of sport her entire life. She had done dance for almost ten years, but after her parents died and she moved out to Tashmore Lake with Daniel, she never thought to pick up dance again. After all, they didn't have the money anyway. How she wished that instead of dance she had done soccer. She could've at least outrun the grown man.

Though Mort had been really nice to her, he had even admitted that people spoke ill of him behind his back. Now that she wasn't drunk anymore, she realized the danger that she had put herself in and wished that she hadn't been so stupid.

"You can't leave! It's for your own good!" Mort cried desperately, his voice booming in Riley's ears.

'_RUN FASTER!_' she screamed inside. Her bare feet ached as they pounded against the rocky driveway, but her destination was right up ahead. She prayed (for the first time in years) that a car would drive by when she reached the end. Her green eyes were locked on the end of the driveway, causing her to not see the large rock that was unfortunately in her running path.

"Rock," Mort said quietly, but he was so close behind Riley that she could hear his soft voice. However, the word didn't register in her brain until after her toes banged up against the rock, and as she fell, her ankle twisted. Her ankle seared in pain, and Riley let out a painful scream. Tears developed in her eyes when she realized that her escape plan had failed and Mort knelt beside her.

"Ouch," Mort muttered while staring at her twisted ankle. "You're getting pretty banged up, Riley," he said with a smile.

"Please, Mr. Rainey," Riley sobbed, "I promise I won't tell anyone that I was here—just let me go home! Please! I swear to God that I'll never mention this—"

Mort listened to the girl's pleas, and he was surprised that he hadn't started tearing up as well because she looked so upset. He wished that he could let the girl go, but he knew he couldn't. If he did, Shooter would definitely come back and search for her. A few minutes before, Mort's voices were being extremely mysterious…as if they knew something that happened last night that Mort didn't.

"I can't let you go…" Mort said regretfully, "I wish I could, I really do!"

"Then why don't you?!" Riley pleaded.

"I…I have this friend…well he's not really much of a friend…but see…he kills people," Mort said, trying to sound as cheery as he could about it, which freaked Riley out even more.

She looked down to her abnormal ankle sorrowfully, knowing that she could never escape out of his house unless it healed, and for it to heal, Mort would have to heal it. It was so complicated, and now that she knew that one of Mort's "friends" was a murderer, she wasn't necessarily in the best of moods. In fact, she was terrified and in the most pain that she had ever been in before. The gash on the back of her head throbbed, and her ankle was practically disconnected from her body.

"But no one knows we're out here, not even your friend!" Riley protested, refusing to give up her life.

"He'll find a way…oh he'll find a way," Mort said reassuringly with a smile.

"Why the hell are you smiling?! There's a murderer after you, and now me, and you are _smiling_! What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Riley screamed. She didn't care that she was freaking out anymore.

"A lot of things…" Mort said softly, then grabbed Riley unexpectedly and threw her over his shoulder. "I've got to fix your ankle."

"LET ME GO!" she yelled, pounding against his back, trying to free herself, but she was a pretty tiny girl, and couldn't get out of his tight hold around her legs. Tears streaming down her cheeks, and a heavy heart sitting in her chest, she entered Mort's haunting cabin once again.


End file.
